Tearing Down Walls
by Everthought
Summary: A series of slightly awesome reveal fics featuring, among other things, a BAMF!Merlin, plenty of Arwen, lots of bromance, some whump!, and all the rest of that good stuff. Not necessarily magic reveals (though the first one is) - can be Freya, scar reveal, dragonlord/Balinor, etc...No slash! This is an "I'm sorry" for not updating Dreadful Day- I'll get on that, guys, don't worry!
1. Chapter 1

"On your knees, go on." The blade was prodded roughly into Arthur's back; he stumbled forward, but stayed on his feet, glaring at the ground.

Arthur could feel himself shaking with rage and shame, but when he looked over and saw Merlin, expression murderous as he struggled against the men that held him, Arthur was suddenly genuinely scared - scared for his friend. Merlin opened his mouth, eyes alight with a fury that was shocking and foreign to Arthur, so, before the idiot could do or say something stupid, Arthur promptly dropped to his knees. The action surprised his captors, who had been told not to expect an easy surrender, and it clearly surprised Merlin, who shut his mouth with a snap, an indefinably painful expression crossing his face.

Well, it surprised Arthur, too.

He was only sure that he needed to deflect attention from his idiot manservant- his unfailingly loyal, ridiculously stupid friend who would get himself killed with his big mouth.

And so Arthur, exhaling painfully, dropped his dagger. He shut his eyes as a collective noise rose from the onlookers; his three knights, shackled by their ankles to the stone wall in front of him, dropped their heads, defeated; Morgana's men seemed, if anything, relieved… All except for the man who held a sword, _Arthur's _sword, to the fallen king's back.

Arthur could hear the grin in his voice as he addressed someone out of sight. "See, what did I tell you, m'lady? It was child's play. Capture three of his men on patrol. The idiot tracks them with a party of merely half a dozen, follows the clues we left for him like a good dog. When they approach, they split. You said his servant never leaves his side- his unarmed servant. One man grabs the servant, the king surrenders- bam! As easy as that."

Suddenly, out of the shadows emerged Morgana, her brow creased and her eyes coldly intrigued as, the man falling into step beside her, she drew up next to her brother. "You've done well," she murmured.

Arthur shook his head, eyes burning. "My men-" his voice cracked. He tried again. "My men. What have you done with them?"

The man bowed his head in acknowledgment of Arthur's question, and Arthur saw the tiniest bit of respect flicker in his eyes for the care Arthur had for his men. "All quick, Your Majesty, painless deaths."

"_No_…" Arthur closed his eyes as his heart clenched inside him. Their faces swam in his head...Sir Bedivere, the new recruit, so eager to please his king.. green eyes, a genuinely delightful smile, sandy hair that was always messy...the boy was barely eighteen. Then, Sir Kai… he'd been with Arthur since Uther's days...Arthur remembered Kai teaching him how to hold a sword, remembered the smile in his eyes and barely concealed pride when the prince won his first tournament and knelt at the feet of Uther, the man who had had no time to teach his son himself. Sir Galahad, who was getting married next month. Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth, the twin brothers who could nearly match Gwaine in a drinking contest, whose hearty laughs and well-told tales had warmed many a cold night on horseback. And, Sir Tristran, the faintest streaks of grey barely showing at his temples, whose wife had just recently given birth, who could not keep the smile out of his eyes when he spoke of his newborn daughter…

All gone. All dead. The world blurred, but he fought to not let his tears spill over. They would be mourned, but not here. Here, in the presence of these dogs and these monsters, he would not dishonor his fallen comrades by showing weakness.

Morgana's irritated voice cut through the requiem playing in his head. "He is swine; don't address him as royalty!"

"Forgive me saying so, m'lady, but, until you are crowned or he is dead, he is still the king."

Arthur wondered at the man's contradictory behavior - one moment cruel, mocking, cunning, holding a sword to his spine, the next bowing his head and insisting on using his proper title.

Clearly, however, Morgana didn't care. She lunged for Arthur herself, growling as she did, "let me make one thing quite clear-"

And then suddenly, impossibly, Merlin was in front of Arthur, legs slightly bent and apart, hands held aloft with fingers splayed. Arthur gaped up at his friend's back from his position on the floor, not just because it seemed impossible that the scrawny servant had broken free from the two vicious-looking men holding him captive and bolted in front of his king in what seemed like a blink of an eye, but because the idiot's legs were braced against the ground in a textbook perfect sword-fighter's stance, a stance that Arthur had long since given up on teaching his clumsy manservant, dismissing the cause as hopeless.

"You will not touch him," Merlin snarled, his voice ringing with a strange sort of power that made Arthur freeze instead of bashing his head on the ground at his servant's stupidity. Morgana, too, seemed thrown by his tone, but in her defense, power was certainly an odd quality to associate with Merlin.

Eventually, though, she recovered enough to let out a slightly forced laugh. "And who is going to stop me? You?" Her laugh grew more genuine and she cocked an eyebrow at Merlin, already raising her arm, no doubt to blast Merlin away with her magic…

And Arthur couldn't just sit around and let that happen. He didn't know what instinct spurred him on, but he dropped to the ground and thrust his legs outward. When they met Merlin's ankles, he locked his own ankles around them and heaved his body into a twist, sending Merlin, good fighter stance or no, sprawling onto the ground amidst a swirl of oaths.

Sure enough, a blast of purple lightning struck the spot where Merlin's head had, moments before, been threatening Morgana. She gasped and staggered, clutching her abdomen, and somehow Arthur knew that the display of magic had weakened her.

Arthur wasted no time pondering that, though, and she wasted none in firing again, this time at him. He rolled out of the way of the new blast, and Morgana's grating scream of annoyance rang through the room. Arthur got to his feet, his hand closing around his discarded dagger. He threw, and it embedded itself in the chest of the mastermind behind their kidnapping. The man dropped to his knees as Arthur had done, staring in horror at the knife in his chest, and Arthur, without hesitation, reclaimed Excalibur, which seemed to sing in his hand as his fist closed around the pommel.

He was single-minded as he raced to the far wall, weaving past inexplicably clumsy mercenaries- they kept dropping their weapons or tripping over air, but he didn't dwell too much on his incredible seeming luck - in order to put as much distance between himself and his crazy witch-sister, who, shrieking spells and wordless cries, kept throwing lightning bolts at him.

With three quick cleaves of Excalibur - Gods above, he loved this sword - Gwaine, Leon, and Percival were free from their chains. The knights, revived with the adrenaline of battle, all sprang nimbly away from where they'd been held, ducking to avoid attacks, both magical and non-magical, and hopped into the fray to arm themselves, all flashing small smiles at Arthur as they went.

The good humor, however, was short-lived. While Morgana, apparently greatly weakened by her magic use, ceased her attacks, panting, the mercenaries made an untimely recovery from their clumsiness and soon Gwaine, Leon, Percival, and Arthur stood back to back, borrowed swords and Excalibur poised to defend themselves against a circle of angry men.

This was it, Arthur realized, his heart pumping a mile a minute. This was the end. He hefted Excalibur slightly and adjusted his stance. "It's been an honor," he nodded to his knights. Leon closed his eyes briefly. "The honor has been all ours, Sire." Percival dipped his head. Gwaine laughed, eyes merry, fearless and fierce. "Let's carve out a chunk of this beast's hide and show them how a knight of Camelot won't go down without a hell of a fight."

Arthur smiled, too. "Well said, Sir Gwaine. On my mark...For Camelo-!"

"STOP!"

Merlin shoved his way into the circle - how, Arthur had no idea, - and put himself at Arthur's right. He rolled his eyes, looking exasperated. "It was the perfect reveal moment! Arthur, you, clotpole, you ruined it!"

"What?" The mercenaries didn't move, and Arthur turned to look at them now, and noticed that they were completely frozen in place. Still, like statues. He jolted back, surprised. Something in the back of his mind tickled.

Merlin, however, was oblivious to his king's surprise, or pretended to be, at least. He huffed a breath. "She said 'And who is going to stop me? You?' and I was going to say, I was going to say, 'Emrys!'"

The room went quiet.

Morgana appeared, suddenly, shoving her way through the frozen men as Merlin had, her eyes swirling with emotions. Her voice was barely audible when she spoke, tremblingly, and it was laced with fear "...You?"

Arthur glanced to Merlin, trying to gauge if this was the reaction he expected. Merlin wasn't looking at him anymore, though; his eyes were trained on Morgana.

"It's always been me."

"I should have known," Morgana said, her eyes widening. "I should have known!" Her voice strengthened with anger. " How could I have not felt it before? But," she moved closer, inhaling through her nostrils. "I feel it now, I feel the power, and it will be mine!" Her eyes were crazed, mad. She raised her arms again and balls of crackling purple lightning erupted from her clawed hands.

"Lightning, Morgana, lightning?" Merlin threw back his head and laughed, a commanding, regal, harsh sound. When he righted himself he smiled mockingly at her. "Lightning is _my_ specialty. Nimueh would know."

_Nimueh?_

"Nimueh's dead," Morgana hissed, looking smug. "I'm high priestess now."

"And how," Merlin asked dangerously, "do you think she died?"

Morgana's jaw dropped; her balls of energy wavered and true, raw fear was visible in her terrified green eyes. Arthur almost pitied her, but he really had no clue what was going on.

And then, and then, and then... Merlin's eyes erupted in twin blasts of golden light, and lightning, pure and white and blinding, slammed into the ground around them. The frozen mercenaries fell where they stood, bolts striking their chests. The smell of charred flesh wafted to his nostrils, and he brought his sleeve to his nose.

Morgana cowered, now, her hands empty, her face ravaged with a fear that reminded Arthur of the young, good Morgana, looking up at him with horrified eyes after a nightmare, begging him not to leave, and his heart ached.

The lightning rained down around her and Merlin, eyes still blazing, advanced, and then Morgana whispered something and, in a flash of golden light, disappeared, her lips moving frantically as she chanted under her breath, eyes a burnished red-gold, until she was no longer there.

Merlin roared in displeasure and banged his fist on the wall, his eyes returning to blue. He yelped, then, and yanked his fist back, scowling and looking so much like the clumsy, idiotic manservant Arthur knew, that Arthur laughed.

Then the…the..._sorcerer_ turned and looked at him, and their eyes met across the rubble and charred remains of the battlefield, across the destruction the scrawny _sorcerer_ had wrought without uttering a single word, and the laughter died in his throat.

What would happen now?


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey! I'm back from the dead :)**

**And now, by popular demand, the scar reveal!**

**It's my first scar reveal, so go easy and please forgo the rotting fruit… Anyway, this is set in a post-reveal golden age we never got to see. Gwaine and Elyan are still alive. **

**By the way, a warning: mild shirtlessness ensues. If you've got any other suggestions, PM me :)**

**Enjoy!**

"...and then he blasts about forty of the opposing sorcerers to the ground and while we all stand there gawping, he turns around and says, 'Oh, by the way, I have magic.'"

The lords and ladies, knights and maids, servants and royalty picnicked out by the lake erupted into laughter.

Gwaine guffawed, finishing his tale with a flourish, and setting down his goblet to wipe a mirthful tear from his eye.

Arthur, propped lazily against a tree with Guinevere nestled into his side, ruffled Merlin's hair in a rough, playful sort of way, and Merlin even cracked a shy, reluctant smile.

"Oh, Merlin," Gwen mused, leaning back on her husband. "What would we ever have done without you?"

"I think we'd probably be on time to meetings and feasts, for a start," Arthur interrupted. "Our chambers would be clean-."

"Arthur, stop it," Gwen admonished, but everyone was grinning.

"Oh, but I'm just getting starte- mmm" He was abruptly cut off by Gwen's lips on his, and he set his own goblet on the ground hurriedly, hastily shifting positions so that Gwen was on his lap, and returning her kiss with vigor.

They shared a long, sweet kiss, pressed against the tree trunk, and when Gwen finally pulled away, to general applause and wolf whistles, Arthur was breathless.

"What was I saying?" He asked, gasping.

"Nothing, dear, absolutely nothing." Gwen smiled cheekily, brushing off her skirt and returning to her original position by Arthur's side.

Merlin laughed, but Arthur, flushed and grinning, let it pass unremarked.

"Alright, alright," Ellen, Percival's betrothed, an outspoken sorceress from the lower town, kicked off her shoes and stretched. "As sweet as all this is, I believe I was promised some bare, sweaty knights' chests," she sent a saucy wink at Percival, who turned bright red.

There was more laughter, and Gwaine cracked a couple of unrepeatable jokes at the big knight's expense.

"She's right," Gwaine hollered, eyes glinting. "Battle scars time! Taking bets now!"

Gwen grinned and dug a handful of gold coins out of her purse. "Fifty on Arthur, fifty on Elyan."

Merlin rolled his eyes when Arthur and Elyan puffed out their chests.

"Thirty on Percival," Ellen challenged, dropping a bag of silver in the middle of the circle.

"Twenty on Sir Leon," a maid added to the pile, blushing when Leon sent her a gratified look.

"On me," Gwaine grinned, carefully setting down three bottles of expensive mead.

A couple assorted ladies of the court added to Gwaine's, Elyan's, and Percival's bets.

Several women piled on in favor of the king and Percival, until the two were neck and neck, the piles of gold were precariously large, and pockets were precariously close to empty.

"Forty-five more on Percival," the wife of a visiting foreign dignitary tossed another purse into the circle.

"Sixty more on Arthur," Gwen returned.

"Oooh," Merlin intoned, chuckling, from his position safely outside of the circle.

"Shut up, Merlin," And then Arthur cocked his head, his eyes filled with revenge, and dug out his own purse. "Fifteen on Merlin."

Merlin's cocky grin vanished in an instant, replaced with a look of panic. "No, Arthur," he whispered, sounding horrified.

"No more secrets, Merlin," Arthur reminded him, smiling sweetly.

"Twenty-five more on Merlin," Hunith entered the betting pool, to general surprise.

"Eighty-five on Merlin." The crowd was silent, staring in awe at Gaius.

"Hunith, Gaius," Arthur said, scratching his neck awkwardly, "I was just joking with him - you don't want to lose your money."

"Gaius-" Merlin warned.

But Gaius cut through him. "On the contrary, Sire, I think her highness is the one who'll be losing the money today. My bet stands."

Hunith nodded in agreement, and Arthur shrugged.

"Any last bets?" Gwaine asked, as he finished up the counting of the money. "No? Then we begin with our highest backed competitors. I give you, his high-pratness-"

Merlin and Arthur shot him simultaneous looks, Merlin's gleeful, Arthur's dirty, "Princess Arthur Pendragon, your king- God save you."

Arthur entered the middle of the circle to thunderous applause and catcalls. Gwaine wolf-whistled when he tore off his shirt, exposing the tanned, toned muscle underneath. There were several sounds of admiration from the females in the crowd. Gwen blew him a kiss.

"Next," Gwaine continued, "our big, silent friend. His arms are too big for the standard-issue chainmail, but just the right size to hold dear, sweet, little Ellen-"

Ellen raised a hand, and Gwaine ducked to avoid the incoming ball of purple light. It crashed into the tree behind him. He straightened, hurriedly finishing: "...Let's hear it for Percival!"

Percival let go of Ellen's hand and stood, stripping off his own shirt. Ellen settled back against the rock they'd been leaning on, but frowned when Gwaine crossed into her line of sight, obscuring, her view of her fiancee.

"Try it with a fist," Merlin advised in a low voice from behind her, "it'll be more forceful and you'll have better aim."

She grinned. "Gwaine?" She called.

"M'lady Ellen?" He turned and gave a lavish bow, looking up with a sloppy, crooked grin.

"Now," Merlin whispered, and Ellen raised a fist.

The purple light struck him forcefully in the face before his eyebrows had fully raised, and Gwaine staggered back, clutching his face as it empurpled.

"Not bad," Merlin praised, smiling at his violet-skinned friend. "Not bad at all. I'll have to use that one sometime."

Gwaine, caught sight of himself, to much laughter, in the curved reflection of a plate, and, after getting past a minor breakdown about his skin clashing with his hair, began striking provocative poses. "Only I can pull off the Camelot red with purple skin," he advertised, winking. The ladies' maids in the corner shrieked and giggled.

"Enough, enough," Arthur said, hands on hips. "What about Merlin?"

For the second time that day, Merlin's grin dissipated. He retreated behind the rock that Ellen sat at, putting a finger to his lips.

"Here he is!" Ellen hollered, catching ahold of the warlock's neckerchief.

Merlin cursed.

"Oh, c'mon, mate," Gwaine said good-naturedly, forgetting the purple skin. "How bad can it be?"

Merlin winced.

"_Mer_lin," Arthur ordered, "take off your shirt."

Merlin stumbled backwards, goofy grin plastered on his face, but eyes clearly panicking. "I'd rather not, _sire_."

"_Mer_lin."

"Don't be a prat, sire."

"_Merlin_," Arthur said, tapping his head as if to remind his servant that a crown usually sat there. "I order you to take off your shirt."

"But everyone's just eaten-" Merlin tried for a joke, but tripped over a picnic basket and was cut off mid-sentence, landing at Arthur's feet, blue eyes wide.

"Merlin," Arthur said, massaging his forehead. "Is it really so hard-"

"Yes," he snapped, harsher than he intended. "Yes it is."

And then Arthur's eyes narrowed. "You told me 'no more secrets,' Merlin,"

"This is hardly a secret!" Merlin protested.

"Do you remember?" Arthur pressed, "You looked me in the eye and said-"

"No more secrets," Merlin finished, getting to his feet. He didn't look Arthur in the eye. "No more secrets. Of course I remember."

And, in a single, fluid motion, without looking once at his king, he ripped off his shirt. The entire collective assembly drew in a breath as one.

Because the pale, muscled torso was absolutely webbed in scars. Starting from the circles at his wrists that had obviously come from manacles, the entire expanse of skin was hardly untouched anywhere. At the center of his chest was a perfect circle of absolutely white skin - the veins and blood vessels visible through the translucent layer of skin appeared pitch black, and they criss-crossed the circle like a roadmap of Camelot. His left shoulder bore an ugly, red mace mark; his right had been slashed by some sort of knife or dagger, leaving a jagged scar.

His stomach was marred by three parallel lines, and the scars still stood out in shiny pink - the claws of some gigantic beast. And everywhere else there were other scars - _normal_ battle marks: shallow sword cuts, little Vs from arrow nicks, minor knife grazes. Though even some of those looked questionable.

And Arthur's lips thinned, his forehead creased as he took in his worst nightmare, the fact that his friend had been hurt- tortured, even, by the looks of some of those knife scars - and he hadn't even known.

Gritting his teeth in painful anticipation, he grabbed his friend by the shoulders and whirled him around so that he could see his back.

And he gasped.

Because there, right in the center of Merlin's back was the unmistakable, unforgettable mark of a serket sting. Boyhood terrors, dead knights with that mark on their faces, chests, arms, and backs invaded Arthur's mind and he staggered backward, still gripping his servant's arms, his face ashen.

The assembly was completely silent but for Arthur's labored breathing.

Merlin twisted his head to meet Arthur's eyes with a worried look. A _worried_ look, for _God's sake_, when his body was covered in the horrors of children's nightmares.

And that was it for Arthur. He let go of the warlock's hands and dropped to the ground, dropped to his knees.

"Tell me," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Explain!" And now he was angry, and his voice was powerful. "Explain to me, why, after you tell me 'no more secrets,' we forcibly make you take off your shirt and I see-" he gestured to his chest, the badly-healed scars - "this!"

"Explain." He said again, quietly, needing to know, needing to understand the pain that his friend had endured for him. "Please, let me understand."

And the Merlin dropped to his knees, too - for how could he let his king kneel before him? - and he complied with the request.

Slowly, quietly, he began his tale. The picnickers on the grass stayed where they were, in perfect silence, as the lazy sun overhead made a complete descent and was replaced by a shining full moon, and they learned of a brave, selfless man who risked his neck time and again for Camelot, for the simple force of good, and for the Once and Future King.

And Arthur learnt, in slow, painful detail, of the depths that this man had gone to for him, for his king, for so many years, without so much as a thank you, or even a nod of acknowledgment. He learnt, through the web of scars that connected in the most horrifying ways, of dangers faced without blinking, horrors faced without trembling, griefs faced without tears.

And when Merlin pointed to his chest and described a fight on an island over an old man's body, anguish and fear, lightning, and death, if the king's eyes were wet, no one said a thing.

And they were wet, and they continued to be wet as his best friend's hands traveled across the web of scars across his body, and the young man in the tale braved magical bonds, serkets, evil sorcerers, sorceresses, enchantresses, bandits, thieves, traitors, witches, and terrible beasts that would make trained, battle-hardened knights quake in their boots.

And finally, when Merlin finished, voice shaking with weariness, eyes tearing up because Arthur's were teared up, when he turned pleadingly to his king, willing him to understand, to accept him, Arthur stood, wordlessly. Ignoring his knees, which creaked and popped, he gave Merlin a hug that would not even begin to pay for everything he had done for him, for all the good he'd done in secret, all the evil he'd had to face alone.

"Never again," Arthur whispered into Merlin's back, clutching him tightly and all but sobbing. "You're not alone anymore. No more secrets."

"No more secrets," Merlin agreed. His voice, too, was thick with tears.

The people around them, as if finally being released from the spell of Merlin's voice, broke into thunderous applause for the king's servant, his sorcerer, his friend.

And Gaius and Hunith went home with considerably larger pockets.

**Okay - I'm not sure if that was what you guys wanted or not… hope it was okay. Leave me reviews, please! Tell me what you thought! And PM for suggestions. Btw, those of you who are waiting on Dreadful Day, I updated it late last night, so be sure to check that out if you haven't. **

**Thanks!**

**- Everthought**


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